


Thy Passioned Face

by VelveteenThestral



Category: Three Musketeers (1993)
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, M/M, Missing Scene, drunk!sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-03
Updated: 2012-11-03
Packaged: 2017-11-17 16:49:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/553758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VelveteenThestral/pseuds/VelveteenThestral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athos only wants to get D'Artagnan settled into bed before he falls down. D'Artagnan has other ideas.</p><p> <img/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Thy Passioned Face

**Author's Note:**

> Missing scene directly after the one in the tavern where Porthos and Aramis are teaching D'Artagnan to flirt with the barmaid and Athos is off getting drunk in a corner. I swear, the slash just writes itself.
> 
> Written for [TheFirstChibi](thefirstchibi.tumblr.com), who complained that she hadn't seen any good slash for this pairing while we were watching the movie together. Here you go, hon.

He hadn't intended this, Athos was sure of it. It had been a long and trying day, and all he'd wanted was to find a bottle or three and get quietly senseless. Porthos had been his own boisterous self, and had pulled Aramis and the boy into his fun, but Athos had had no heart for it, and had drawn apart. He wasn't sure how it had happened, but he and D'Artagnan had wound up in each other's arms, kissing with the lazy sensuality that only the very drunk ever seemed to manage.

 _No. Be honest. You know exactly how. Every step of it._ It was true. D'Artagnan was just as brash over a cup of wine as he'd been on the dueling ground, and had gamely matched Athos drink for drink. Even with the most of a bottle's head start that Athos had had on him, before D'Artagnan had come over, curious why he wasn't joining in Porthos and Aramis' rowdy flirtations with the barmaids, the boy never had a chance of keeping up. And so, when he'd stood up, he'd staggered.

It was only natural for Athos to put his arm around him, to keep him from falling to the floor. And, if D'Artagnan had leaned into him, what of that? The lad was drunk. Nothing for it but to get him upstairs to his bed.

They'd have been sharing a room in any case. No sense wasting their coin on four separate rooms when two would do, and it had been a purely strategic move for Athos to declare that the lad could stay with him: Porthos snored. Aramis's sour look had shown that he'd recognized the ploy for what it was, and was annoyed at being outmaneuvered. Too bad.

Athos had sat D'Artagnan down on the edge of the bed, figuring it would be easiest to get his boots off from there. He didn't trust the boy to manage it himself. D'Artagnan had cooperated, looking at Athos with a fatuous grin, but when Athos had stood up, meaning to pull out the trundle bed and get the lad into it -- the mattress, if you could call it that, was sure to be even worse than the one on the main bed, and D'Artagnan was drunk enough not to feel it -- D'Artagnan had slurred out a "Thank you," grabbed both his hands, and pulled him down on the bed beside him.

Nearly on top of him, actually. Athos wasn't sober -- he'd gone to some trouble _not_ to be -- but he wasn't so drunk not to see that little problem, and twist to the side to keep from crushing the boy. D'Artagnan had only kept grinning at him, and threw both his arms around Athos, and _snuggled_ \-- there was no other word for it -- snuggled his head against Athos's shoulder.

It wasn't fair. D'Artagnan was as affectionate as a puppy, and with about as much sense. He'd seen how lonely Athos was, and listened to his bitter, self-pitying talk of Sabine; did he have any idea of the temptation he was, just now? Well, maybe not. Athos had been speaking of a woman, after all, just as the boy had been kissing a wench with Aramis and Porthos' tutoring and applause, and he'd likely no notion that Athos would just as willingly be kissing him.

Any man might, even one who wasn't accustomed, as Athos was, to take his pleasures where he found them. D'Artagnan was as beardless as a girl, and as pretty as one -- prettier than quite a few. Athos had been that pretty, once, and it hadn't gone unnoticed. That was how he'd learned that it wasn't only girls' attentions he enjoyed. Had D'Artagnan already learned that, too? Or was the lad just drunk?

It was a dangerous business. D'Artagnan might be willing enough now, but there was no telling what he'd think about it in the morning, when he was sober. If you could call it that, with the blinding headache he was sure to have by then. It might be fine... or he might decide his honor had suffered an unbearable insult, and challenge Athos to a duel. _Again_. Athos felt weary just thinking about it.

Still, that was a problem for the morning. The more urgent problem, now, was what to do about this infuriating, tempting brat who was not only snuggling against his shoulder, but playing with the fastenings of his doublet. Athos caught his hand. D'Artagnan looked up at him, blinking owlishly. No eyes ought to be that blue.

"You sure you want to do this?" Athos said.

D'Artagnan grinned again. "I'm sure." And, with that, he dragged Athos's head down, pulling him into a long, enthusiastic kiss.

Enthusiastic, but clumsy. Athos was willing to bet that D'Artagnan had never kissed a man before, and not too many women, either. He'd left one hand at the back of Athos's neck, but the other one was at the side of his face, stroking his beard as if it were entirely new to him. It probably was. Athos drew him closer, circling his waist and sinking a hand into the boy's golden curls, and took charge of the kiss, making it a subtle play of tongues and lips, catching D'Artagnan's bottom lip between his teeth, making him moan. The lad was a quick study, he'd give him that. Still, after a while, they had to pull apart to catch their breath.

"Give me a minute," Athos said. D'Artagnan made a disappointed noise. Athos stroked his cheek. "Just let me get my boots off." D'Artagnan's face cleared, and he nodded. A moment later, the deed was done, and Athos pulled him down to lie beside him on the bed.

And that was how it happened, that they came to be there, in one of the upstairs rooms of a country tavern, kissing, with their buttons half undone. D'Artagnan had untied the collar of Athos's shirt, and had slipped his hand inside, toying with the hair on his chest. It was a good thing, Athos thought, that they'd both drunk as much as they had; if his responses had been faster, he might have shocked the lad in his need.

D'Artagnan's need was still very much in evidence, despite the drink. Not that he seemed to be paying much attention to it: he was still giving his entire concentration to the kisses, and not even thrusting his hips. But there it was anyway, hard as iron, nestling into the curve of Athos's hip. Athos felt his own prick harden in response.

D'Artagnan sighed, and snuggled closer. _Damn_ the boy for being so sweet. If he regretted this in the morning, Athos thought, it would _hurt_ , much more than it would if it had just been a quick grope for release. Or even a quick fuck. Athos wouldn't do that, not tonight. It'd likely be too much for the lad. Especially as there was nothing to hand to ease the way but spit, and that was no way to manage a first time. Or any time, really, but sometimes a body was eager enough to make do, however much they might pay for it later. No, he'd find another way to give him satisfaction.

It was a warm night, Athos reflected, and warmer up here under the eaves. Almost stuffy. They were _definitely_ wearing too many clothes. Well, that was solved easily enough. He set to unfastening the rest of D'Artagnan's buttons. D'Artagnan got the idea, and did the same, and soon they were naked. It was warm, but not so warm that the touch of skin against skin was unbearable: very much the opposite. Athos set out to kiss all of D'Artagnan's exposed skin.

D'Artagnan liked that. No surprise. Athos had to reach up and lay a finger across his lips, because the lad had started moaning loud enough to make anyone in the next room suspicious. Aramis would do no more than give him a disapproving look, the next morning, but Porthos would poke fun at them, which would be no fun at all, and if strangers heard, well, they _might_ think he'd brought up one of the barmaids, but why run the risk? Then he had to stifle his own moans, as D'Artagnan sucked his finger into his mouth. _Damn_ the boy. How had he learned to have such an effect? It was maddening. Shuddering, he wrapped his lips around D'Artagnan's cock.

D'Artagnan bolted upright with a startled cry, then fell back on his elbows. "What are you doing?"

"Playing a tune on the virginal, what does it _look_ like I'm doing?" Athos nuzzled against D'Artagnan's thigh, pressing a soft kiss just at the inner crease. "Lie back and enjoy it, lad. Unless you'd rather I didn't?"

"No, no," D'Artagnan said hastily. "I was just surprised, that's all." He settled himself against the age-flattened pillows.

"Good, then." Athos dragged his tongue along the length of D'Artagnan's shaft. "And try to keep quiet."

D'Artagnan was trying, Athos could tell, but he wasn't all that successful. It was flattering, to be sure, just as the way his hips were rolling was flattering, but it was still awkward. Athos thought longingly of the easiest way to silence him: it would be the work of a moment to turn his body on the bed, bringing his own cock close to D'Artagnan's mouth. Even this far gone, the boy would be sure to get the idea. He wouldn't do it, though. It would seem too much like a demand, and he hadn't asked him first. Well, from the noises he was making, it wouldn't be long now. Athos sped up the movement of his mouth, grasping D'Artangnan's cock more firmly near the head, urging him closer with quick, rough strokes; with his other hand, he pressed at the spot behind D'Artagnan's balls, knowing just how fierce a pleasure that could bring. That did it; with a short, helpless groan, D'Artagnan spilled into Athos's mouth.

Athos swallowed, as shallowly as he could, letting most of it trickle out of the corners of his mouth. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, and kissed D'Artagnan again at the crease of his thigh before moving up to lie beside him.

D'Artagnan threw an arm over him, snuggling close. "Thank you."

"No need for thanks," Athos said, though he was pleased at the words. "Did it because I wanted to. Told you you'd enjoy it."

"I did," D'Artagnan said. He hugged Athos tighter. "Let me do the same for you." He pulled away, then stopped, a confused look coming over his face. "Is it hard to do? I mean, to learn."

Athos chuckled, resisting the urge to cover D'Artagnan's face with kisses. The boy had no idea how sweet that sounded, and he'd hate to be told, too. "Not very," Athos said. "Keep your teeth away, that's the main thing. But, lad, you don't have to, just because I did." He ran his hand down D'Artagnan's back. "I'd be happy enough with just your hand. Or even my own, if you're not sure."

"No, I'm sure," D'Artagnan said, looking determined now. "I want to. Just... tell me if I do anything wrong."

"I will," Athos said, ruffling the boy's hair. "Don't worry yourself." Then he lay back, as D'Artagnan moved down, his hands reaching out to stroke Athos's skin.

He was tentative at first, kissing near it but not on it, taking hold of Athos with a feather-light touch. "You can do it harder than that," Athos said. "I promise, it won't break." D'Artagnan made a noise of understanding, and gripped him more firmly, licking at the edges of skin around the head.

He was clumsy, but that was only to be expected, and, as D'Artagnan grew bolder, Athos thought that his awkwardness might be more arousing than any more practiced skill. The thought that the boy was doing this when he never had before, out of a desire to please him... well, that was something you didn't find every day. He reached down to toy with D'Artagnan's curls. D'Artagnan looked up at him at that, his blue eyes searching Athos's face, and the sight of that question in his expression, with his lips still around Athos's cock, brought Athos perilously close to the edge. "Move away, now," he said raggedly. "Unless you want it in your mouth."

"You did," D'Artagnan pointed out, his hand continuing where his tongue had left off.

"I've had practice," Athos said. "It can be a shock, if you're not expecting it."

"I'll take the risk," D'Artagnan said, and then his mouth was back on him, and his hand moving faster than before, and Athos couldn't have held back if he tried, and it spiked through him with a jolt, and he couldn't remember the last time it had felt so good.

D'Artagnan coughed. "You're right," he said ruefully. "It was kind of a shock. But I didn't really mind."

"I did warn you," Athos said. "But never mind. Come up here and kiss me."

"Really? When I've still got... some of _that_ in my mouth?"

"I had yours, didn't I?" Athos pointed out. "I'd be a fool to turn down a kiss over something as small as that."

"All right," D'Artagnan said, though when he kissed him, he didn't use his tongue. It didn't matter. Athos just wanted to hold him, and be close, and D'Artagnan was a warm, relaxed armful, and everything was peaceful and sweet.

D'Artagnan's voice broke through his drowsiness. "Shouldn't we get in the bed?" he asked. "Under the covers, I mean."

Athos groaned. "You're right," he said. "And pray there's no fleas. Maybe we'd better put our drawers on, just to be sure. I don't like the idea of getting bitten on my tender parts, not when they've just been feeling so good."

"Right," D'Artagnan said. "That wouldn't be good at all."

When they were settled beneath the coarse sheets and the thin blanket, D'Artagnan snuggled up to him again. "I love you," he said, his voice tentative now.

"I'm pretty fond of you too, brat," Athos said, squeezing him tight. "But don't tell the others I said that. They'll think I'm going soft." He kissed D'Artagnan's temple. "Don't be so quick to call it love," he said gently. "But, for what it's worth... I love you too."

D'Artagnan made no answer. He only snuggled his face closer into the crook of Athos's neck, with a contented noise. Within moments, he was snoring.

Athos sighed. If he'd known that... well, no. On balance, he couldn't complain.


End file.
